


Silent Lucidity

by Blue_Five



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Drug-Induced Sex, Druid Danny Mahealani, Hellhound Jordan Parrish, Kanima Jackson Whittemore, M/M, Master/Slave, Muteness, Psychological Trauma, Rape/Non-con Elements, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, Spark Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-03
Updated: 2018-11-16
Packaged: 2018-12-21 18:32:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 16,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11950170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blue_Five/pseuds/Blue_Five
Summary: Everyone gets a soulmate phrase at 13 ... sometimes it's just not what you expect.





	1. Chapter 1

The apartment door isn't reinforced against werewolf strength, so it splinters easily under Beacon Hill Deputy Derek Hale's flat-handed shove. He steps through followed by his partner, Deputy Jordan Parrish. The two officers don't even pause at the scene before them. They've seen it too much in recent months.

A purple blanket of smoke hangs over the room which is devoid of anything save four stained mattresses.  On those mattresses are four nude young men in various positions, their bodies accommodating their sexual assaults with unnatural flexibility. And Derek has no trouble labeling what he sees as sexual assault because every young man has a distinct characteristic--the whites of their eyes are deep violet around pupils blown black. No way in hell did they consent willingly to this depravity. 

Jordan growls a call for backup into his shoulder mic being certain dispatch knows to send Druid healers. The young men will be weeks recovering and only if they can be safely brought out of the thrall they're in now. He waves his hand in the air, burning off the haze with his hellhound fire. He looks over at Derek with glowing orange eyes. 

"We've got to fucking stop this, Derek," Jordan snarls. 

Derek nods. He watches the couplings still going on as if they aren't in the room. The drug washes the victim's personality away making them little more than breathing sex dolls but once the attacker penetrates the body they lose awareness of reality. Sex lairs like this one offer a relatively safe place for the fucking to happen while both parties are mindless. No one in the room beyond Derek and Jordan even knows the world exists.

One of the suspects rears up and slaps his victim with a strange flat laugh. This triggers a cascade effect as the other men do the same. Jordan curses and leaps forward with Derek right behind him. They generally try not to interfere until the druids arrive but the blows are landing fast and hard. Hard enough the victims are starting to react. Low whimpers and groans begin to fill the air as Derek grips one of the perverts' wrist. The jerk's bloodshot eyes look right through him and Derek looks away to the victim. A wave of dismayed sadness fills him. The kid can't be more than a few years out of high school. Derek is struck by the angular beauty emerging from the youthful face still dusted with freckles. Derek idly wonders what color his eyes really are and gazes along the exposed toned body covered in ... scars?  He shakes his head to force himself back to the task at hand. The young man's rapist is grunting and trying to free his hand, still lost in his drug fantasy.  He's so loud Derek almost misses it.

"Please stop hurting me ..."

The voice is soft and pleading. Derek feels his heart begin to pound in a brutally hard rhythm as he stares at the wide-eyed young man looking back at him. The purple color has faded and awareness creeps into the gaze. Derek vaguely recognizes that he tears the man thrusting into the victim's body away and tosses him across the room.

He hears someone yelling his name. He feels hands trying to pull him away but he fights. Nothing matters now beyond this young stranger. The world is just the two of them and Derek knows he'll never let go.


	2. Chapter 2

Derek looks into the intensive care ward where the latest victims were brought. The drug is more than simple chemistry and must be dealt with using healers of various focus. The room is dappled in soft light almost as if tree branches stretched overhead. The beds are all made of natural wood and have overstuffed mattresses that cradle each body. Brightly colored woven blankets cover the abused patients. Derek remembers enough from his incantation courses to know the runes in the pattern are meant to protect and ease pain. He wishes he could be in the room curled around one particular body but he has to wait. He sucks at waiting. 

Jordan rounds the corner and sighs. He's not surprised to see Derek holding vigil but he left the werewolf in that exact spot nearly two hours ago.  Derek shoots him a warning glance as Jordan joins his friend. The hellhound snorts dismissively. 

"Did I say anything? No. I didn't, so just calm your furry ass down," Jordan retorts. He looks into the room and zeroes in on the blonde they pulled out of the sex den. "Any updates?"

Derek shakes his head. The fingers of his left hand drift over the intricate concealment tattoo on his right forearm. Jordan knows the phrase hidden there has haunted his friend since it appeared.  He reflexively looks down at his own arm.  Conventional wisdom said that the meaning behind a phrase is dependent on context - what seems funny might actually be quite serious and what seems ominous could be humorous in a given situation.  The context for Derek's phrase now revealed ... Jordan almost wishes it had been what they feared all along.

"You need to eat, brother," Jordan offers.

Derek's eyes flash blue and his lip curls to reveal a pearl-white fang.  Jordan rolls his eyes.  "Will you give it a rest?  I know you don't want to leave him, Derek.  Hell, who else knows better than me?"  He gestures at a nearby chair and lifts a paper bag into view.  "However, why don't you try and be civilized while you eat, ok?"

Derek's eyes narrow as he slowly returns to his human aspect.  The shy wolf and orphaned hellhound met the first day of kindergarten and have been inseparable since -- brothers in all but blood, according to uncle Peter.  The Hale family adopted Jordan and their bond was sealed.  Derek trusts Jordan implicitly and he knows the man is only trying to help an untenable situation.  He sighs and nods before walking over to drop into one of the plastic chairs along the corridor.  Jordan immediately joins him and pulls out an enormous burger wrapped in foil.  Derek feels his mouth begin to water as he unwraps it and takes a huge bite.

"Oh my _gods_ , what the hell?"

Derek doesn't even look up from digging in the bag for the wedge fries he can smell.  He just flips off the individual coming toward them and shoves three large wedges in his mouth.  Jordan snickers.

Stiles Stilinski has been the bane of Derek's existence since he met the young Spark at the station where his sheriff father works.  Sent overseas at a relatively young age to learn how to control his power at a prestigious school, Stiles wasn't around while Derek and Jordan were growing up.  Naturally the day the kid comes home all freshly graduated is the day he meets his father's newest deputies and bonds to one of them.  Unfortunately, the meeting isn't something they're likely to share with the grandkids without a good deal of editing considering how horrific it was but Stiles and Jordan connected that day regardless.

"Just because you two have wolfy/hellhoundy metabolisms doesn't mean you can eat whatever artery-clogging nightmares you like!" Stiles complains, seating himself on Jordan's lap with a kiss. 

Derek rolls his eyes.  He really doesn't begrudge Jordan his happiness -- Stiles makes the hellhound stupidly happy and that's enough for Derek.  Plus, the young man accepted the pair's unique brother/friendship without even blinking.  Granted, he moved into the loft and made himself at home before Derek even had time to get used to the idea but it's like the kid's always been a part of their lives.  He's scary smart and the strength of his magic sometimes makes Derek sneeze when the air starts to crackle around him.  But Derek's Pack instinct immediately accepted Stiles because the wolf knew that the Spark would cheerfully annihilate anyone or anything that messes with those he loves.  Digging further into the bag, Derek pulls out the expected large cup of curly fries.  Stiles snags them and makes sounds Derek would rather not associate with the young man.  He kisses Jordan again.

"Have I told you I love you lately, hot stuff?"

"Nah, but we can share notes on the topic later," Jordan returns, happily nuzzling against Stiles' neck while his Mate eats.

Derek swallows the sudden lump in his throat.  He drops his unfinished burger and fries into the bag and stares down at his arm, the ink blurring through unwanted tears.  A warm hand presses against his cheek.  Derek looks up to see Stiles gazing steadily at him.  The Spark has his own tragic memories like Derek and Jordan so his eyes are devoid of pity for which Derek is deeply grateful.

"Don't forget ... you're not alone, sourwolf," Stiles says softly.

Derek's lips quirk at the dig but he wipes his eyes and exhales shakily.  Stiles is back to munching on his fries when he looks up again but the whiskey-gold gaze gleams slightly.  Derek raises an eyebrow and tilts his head toward the unit, a silent request if the Spark could see how the young man is doing.

"I can't, Derek.  It would be ... rude," Stiles replies ruefully.  "However, while I can't peek with my ability ... that isn't the only ability I've got."

Stiles slips off Jordan's lap and swings his ever-present backpack off one shoulder.  A few taps later on his iPad and he's got the medical records of the recently admitted on the screen.  He skims through the ids that were collected at the scene and Derek grabs the tablet when the sharp angles of his soulmate appear.  He drags his fingertips down the picture.

"Jackson ... his name is Jackson Whittemore," Stiles reads upside-down.

Stiles takes the tablet back and makes a quick copy of the photo before sending it to Derek.  He begins to scan the report notes which are written in one of the healer languages.  As Stiles mutters to himself, Derek grows more and more tense.

"Babe, you wanna share with the class before Derek starts rearranging the furniture?" Jordan suggests.

Stiles jumps, returning to his "Huh, oh yeah!  Sorry!"  He scrolls down.  "He's stable.  Looks like he's responding to treatment as expected but they're having some issues with his biological makeup ... damn ... Derek, he's a _kanima._ "

Derek startles and looks over at Jordan.  _Kanimas_ are considered abominations by most of the Packs because instead of seeking Pack, they seek a single master.  Derek frowns darkly.  Stiles taps a finger against his friend's arm over his tattoo.

"Dude ... this right here says that you and Jackson are meant to fit together, no matter what you have in your pasts.  I know what Pack means to you and Jordan but if you deny your Mate, won't that make your wolf sick?"

Jordan sighs.  "He's got a point, Derek.  The Pack will have to acknowledge that ... besides ... if you become his Master, then maybe that'll break the curse.  He's obviously got shape shifter DNA or it wouldn't have mutated.  Full-blood humans don't become _kanima_."

Derek runs a hand over his face.  Jordan grips his shoulder.  "Derek, you don't have to figure all that out now.  Just be here when he wakes up.  You're his soul mate ... the _kanima_ has to recognize you as its Master."

"Wellll ... you know, unless the _kanima_ already _has_ a Master.  Which it does.  Which is me."

All three of them look over to see a tall, dark-haired young man wearing a black hoodie and jeans.  He wore an easy grin as if he was discussing the weather and not Derek's Mate.  Stiles snorted.  "Matt Daehler, of course it is."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't understand why they picked "Noah" for the sheriff's name so I'm ignoring it.

"Derek ... son, if you don't stop making that noise I'm going to make you leave."

Derek Hale sits in front of his bosses desk, arms crossed over his chest  He shoots a hard glare at Sheriff John Stilinski but only gets a flat stare in return.  John isn't actually his Alpha but Derek's wolf acknowledges him as the dominant member of the sheriff's department 'Pack'.  Derek sinks silently into the chair and the low, rumbling growl he's been making for most of the meeting stops.  Jordan shoots his brother a sympathetic grimace.

"Now, as I was saying, Matt Daehler has filed an order of restraint against you.  You must maintain a distance of no less than 500 feet between you and Jackson Whittemore as is practical."

"That's insane," Jordan counters.  "Jackson is Derek's _soulmate_."

The sheriff nods.  "As far as _Derek_ says ... supposedly Jackson doesn't remember the interaction and to add to the issue ... he has no soulmate phrase of his own."

Derek's head snaps up at that with a low whine.  His soulmate doesn't have a phrase inked on his arm?  Maybe Jackson isn't the right one but Derek's phrase has haunted him for so long he can't imagine that there would be more than one situation where he'd hear someone say that.

"No ink?  But how can that --" Jordan stops suddenly and shares a look with Sheriff Stilinski.

Derek looks between them, confused and frowns at Jordan.  His brother rubs the back of his neck and shrugs uncomfortably.  "Well ... I mean, that kinda makes sense, if you think about it, Derek.  You're not exactly a great conversationalist."

Derek blinks and then his eyes widen.  The sudden realization of what he's done with his decades of silence breaks over him in a wave.  He shifts before he's pushing through the door and out of the station.  Jordan curses sharply, his eyes glowing orange. 

"Go after him, Jordan.  Keep him from doing anything stupid ... I'm going to see what Stiles can dig up on the legalities of soulmates and restraining orders," John says tiredly.

Jordan races out the door.

* * *

Derek pounds through the Preserve, grateful that he can't cry while in his wolf form otherwise he'd be sobbing.  His soulmate ... he broke his own soulmate without even realizing it.  His self-appointed muteness had permeated their bond so thoroughly that no phrase had appeared on Jackson's arm.  Derek miserably wonders how it felt for the young man to come of age and have his skin remain blank.  To watch, year after year, as others daydreamed about that first moment when they would hear their other half's voice and to believe he would never know that joy.  Derek's mournful howl splits the air.  It all makes sense now.  Jackson's sense of self must have been non-existent for the _kanima_ to find a doorway into his soul.

 _Forgive me.  Forgive me.  Forgive me._   The mantra plays through Derek's head as he keeps a ground-eating pace heading deeper into the Preserve. 

He'd fallen quiet once he understood that the words on his arm could mean that he was going to hurt his soulmate in some way -- enough to make that person beg Derek to stop.  His parents had allowed him his silence because they hadn't been sure it wasn't true.  Although, as they told Derek over and over, neither of them had been able to conceive of anything that would make their sweet boy raise a hand to his own mate.  Then he'd met Kate and his gullible belief of her deception had nearly cost him so much ... Derek's silence only became more profound.  Obviously, as a deputy, Derek had no choice but to speak in the line of duty but it was always the minimum required.

_I'm sorry.  I'm sorry.  I'm sorry._

Derek feels the ground shifting underneath his paws.  Dirt, leaves, forest deitrus give way to harder surfaces ... he knows he's near the ravine.  Some long ago shifting of earth had rent the Preserve from one end to the other leaving a massive scar.  He runs on instinct, lost in his pain.

_Jackson forgive me.  Jackson forgive me.  Jackson ... Jackson ... Jackson ..._

As Derek's body coils to spring over the widest breach, something slams into his side.  A sudden, terrible numbness washes over him and Derek hits the ground like a pile of old rags, his limbs akimbo.  He can breathe but moving is impossible.  Tremors ruffle his fur as he lies helpless and his attacker approaches, a harsh scent of pine preceding the figure.

When the _kanima_ comes into Derek's line of sight, the werewolf has a sudden sense of _Jackson._ It approaches him slowly, head tilted to one side almost curiously.  Yellow, reptilian eyes gleam at Derek, its haw sliding across the pupil periodically as the creature leans close to the wolf.  The _kanima's_ mouth is open slightly, revealing a glimpse of translucent fangs ringing the jaw.  Derek hears quick inhales and realizes the lizard is scenting him.  A humanoid hand reaches out and unnaturally long fingers tipped with slender claws brush delicately against Derek's fur.  He tries desperately to see anything human in the strange face that hovers so close to his muzzle.  Bitter pine fills his nose and Derek sneezes, unable to hold it back.  The _kanima_ rears back and skitters away, crouching a few feet from Derek but it lingers ... watching.

Derek takes in the _kanima's_ form as it paces back and forth in front of him.  He thinks he's losing his mind but he finds it almost ... beautiful.  Dark scales cover the broad torso, lighter on the chest, graduating to a deeper mottled olive on the back and appendages.  Derek can see the shiny quality to certain patches and he guesses they are thicker to provide more protection to vulnerable areas.  A long, prehensile tail whips behind the _kanima_ in irritation.  Derek can just make out a softer, earthy scent beneath the strong pine ... the creature is confused and Derek suddenly wonders if Jackson is trying to break through.  He _whufs!_ with his muzzle jerking spastically up and landing with a thump.  The lizard startles, claws appearing suddenly.  Derek sees them glisten with fresh venom.  He whines softly.  Feeling is creeping back into his limbs.  Everything tingles painfully but he doesn't try to move again.  The _kanima_ relaxes.

For several long minutes the two supernatural beings watch one another.  Gradually, Derek regains full mobility and is able to sit up.  He shakes himself and shifts back to human.  The _kanima_ hisses but it doesn't flee.  Derek curls his legs beneath him and just sits.  The _kanima_ moves forward with short, hesitant movements.  It takes everything Derek has not to move ... even when he has a cold, scaled nose pressed against his jugular.  When the soft inhales cease, Derek braces for sharp fangs to tear into his windpipe but nothing happens.  He suddenly realizes he's closed his eyes and forces them open again.  Blue-green eyes blink at Derek and the scent wafting over him now is sweet like honey with an undertone of something citrus, like limes.  Derek can't help it, he reaches up and gently cups the sharply cut jawline.  His mouth opens and closes but no words come and Derek desperately wants there to be words.  He wants to say so many things to this young man ... he suddenly wants to spend the rest of his life telling Jackson exactly what he means to Derek.

 _"Why_?"

The voice is so young-sounding and the eyes that search his are desperate.  Derek shakes his head, tears building behind his eyes.  Jackson grabs Derek's arm and pulls it out.  When his gaze falls on the elaborate sleeve that hides his phrase, he jerks away.  Derek reaches for him but Jackson moves away too quickly.  He stands in front of his erstwhile mate with hands clenched tightly at his sides.  Jackson's eyes are turned away, the muscle in his jaw twitching.  Derek moves to stand and a low snarl erupts from Jackson, his eyes suddenly cold and reptilian.

Derek watches in shock as a dark pattern begins to creep up Jackson's leg, slithering around and bleeding to the other lean limb.  It crawls like a lizard along a stone wall, filling every muscled ridge and crevice until Jackson disappears and the _kanima_ remains.  Its tail slaps the ground three times and then it launches itself at Derek.  The werewolf barely has time to throw up his arm and a howl of pain tears out of him when fire-hot slashes rip through the skin.  He falls back, his legs twisted painfully beneath him and his breath coming in harsh gasps.  The creature didn't regulate its venom this time and black spots begin to dot Derek's vision as his diaphragm succumbs to the paralysis.  He doesn't care ... Jackson's rejection means he can die now, alone in his shame.  The _kanima_ crouches over Derek and looks at him with the same curious head-tilt from before.  It opens its mouth and begins to speak but the voice isn't Jackson's.  It's his Master - Matt Daehler.

"You have no claim to him, stupid wolf.  He's mine ... all mine," Matt said smugly.  "He's so fucked up thanks to you there was _nothing_ stopping me the night the _kanima_ emerged.  He belongs to _me_."


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short update . . .

Jackson blinks back to awareness on the back deck of Matt's house.  It's raining now and he's cold outside his  _kanima_ form.  Jackson goes to open the door but it swings open before he can even touch the doorknob.  Daehler stands there, the smirk Jackson once found cute is now the warning signal that he's in for it.

"Well now ... if it isn't my little prodigal, come slithering back home," Matt comments.  His eyes rake up and down Jackson's naked body.  "Did you enjoy your little outing?" Jackson ignores this and steps forward to enter the house.  Matt blocks him.  "I asked you a question, Jackson."

Jackson ducks his head.   He _hates_ this ... the pattern is always the same.  Jackson resists and Matt toys with him until he's desperate and begging for forgiveness.  And it's a forgone conclusion that Jackson  _will_ beg.  The alternative is not one he wants to contemplate no matter the way his very sense of self erodes a little more each time.  Jackson's voice is barely above a whisper when he replies.

"I just wanted to see him."

"I'm sorry, I didn't catch that," Matt mocks, his hand cupping one ear.

Jackson looks up helplessly.  "I just wanted to see him, Matt.  The healers, they said --"

"The healers said what, Jackson?  That he was your _soulmate_?  Your one and only?  Is that what they told you?"

"Y-yes ... but I wouldn't leave you, Matt.  I swear, I was just --"

Matt steps into Jackson's space and his breath is hot on the other man's chilled lips.  "You wanted to know if he was better than me, didn't you, sweetheart?"

Jackson shakes his head, his eyes squeezed shut.  "No ... no, I don't think--"

"Did he make you feel like this, Jackson?  Did he make you _want_ like this?" Matt's hand is warm and it's coaxing Jackson's cock to emerge from its self-imposed retreat in the cold rain.

Jackson groans, his hands curling into fists at his sides even as his head falls back.  Not for the first time, Jackson curses the nightmare his life has become since the _kanima_ took up housing within him.  The other man was already obsessed -- it was just Jackson's bad luck that his stalker had been parked outside that fateful night.  The _kanima_ was instantly drawn to the darkness within Matt and Jackson's fate was sealed.  He tried to resist but after so many years of believing he was one of the infinitesimal percentage doomed to never have a soulmate, Jackson's will was subsumed with barely a fight.  At first, despite his initial reluctance, Jackson found Matt's control deeply arousing.  When he realized the person behind the control was far more twisted than anyone suspected, Jackson gave up.  He can't openly defy Matt so Jackson buries his true self as deeply within himself as he can and glosses over it all.  He's hidden his real emotions all his life -- perfect training for the hell he exists in now.

Focusing on Matt's touch, Jackson gives into the all-too-familiar heaviness that comes with obedience.  It's addictive and as much as he hates it, he also craves it. 

"That's it ... there's my boy ..." Matt purrs.

Jackson shudders.  When he looks at Matt again, his eyes gleam in their reptilian aspect.  "Yessss .... Massssterrrr ..."  He shifts and falls to all fours as Matt goes back into the house.  Jackson follows because he has no other choice but Matt doesn't see the _kanima_ look over its shoulder when a mournful howl echoes on the moonlight.

* * *

"Ok, sourwolf, you're gonna need to back it up a little because I can't think with you breathing all hot and wolfy in my _fucking ear_!"

Derek rears back with a frustrated snarl.  Jordan stays reclined on the couch but Derek picks up the faintest scent of burnt matches ... a subtle warning that the hellhound isn't going to let Derek lose his temper with Stiles, brother or otherwise.  The werewolf stalks out to the loft's balcony.  He stares up at the sky.  A cold, dark place is growing in his chest the longer he's apart from Jackson.  His dreams are full of the blonde's blue-green eyes and of Matt Daehler's torn body lying on the ground, bleeding. 

"You know he's not going to quit on this, right?"

Derek leans on the railing and drops his head before nodding slightly.

"Good," Jordan says as he perches on the edge.  "Then let him work ... it's not ideal but I don't want to have to toss your furry ass down to the parking lot."

Derek snorts.  When he turns to roll his eyes at Jordan, his brother's eyebrows climb up his forehead.  Derek ducks his head again, realizing what Jordan sees.  A warm hand gently nudges his chin up. 

"Derek ... you should have told me.  We've got what, ten more days?"

Derek looks up at the silver orb.  _"Eight."_   His voice is a whisper.

Jordan runs a hand over his face.  "It's time to tell Talia."

Derek's head jerks up and he frowns.  Jordan shrugs.  "Your choice but she'll hear about it from me if you don't."

Jordan finds himself sudden pushed back over the edge of the balcony with Derek's hand the only thing holding him in place.  Claws dig into his throat.  Jordan doesn't struggle.  As evidenced by the glowing blue eyes, Jordan now knows Derek is slowly going feral thanks to the forced separation from Jackson.  Besides, he trusts his brother with his life.  Derek would sooner jump off the building himself than hurt Jordan.  A belief that's borne out when the werewolf gives a broken sob and falls back, dragging the hellhound to safety before he collapses on the floor.  Jordan scrambles to his sibling's side and pulls the shaking torso against his own. 

"We'll figure it out, Derek ... I swear we will.  But you need your Pack ... you're the one who taught me that.  Pack is where you run to, not away from."

"Derek."

Both men turn at the soft feminine voice. Talia Hale is Alpha of the Hale Pack and Derek's mother.  She oversees her own with a firm hand tempered by a deep abiding love for each wolf or human.  Or hellhound.  Derek whimpers and scrambles up.  He crosses to his mother in two strides and buries his nose against her neck as tears slip down his face.  Talia growls softly, gentling her son's despair.  Stiles eases past her to wrap himself around Jordan, the earlier anger long-forgotten.  Like Jordan, Stiles is part of Talia's Pack and just as cherished regardless of his new status.  He might not be able to sense Derek's pain in the tangible ways Fae creatures can but he feels it nonetheless and his heart breaks for the taciturn werewolf.  Jordan presses a kiss to his mate's hair.

Talia softly shushes Derek's sobs while stroking his hair.  "My precious pup ... you take all the pain to yourself ... always you bear it alone."  Derek looks up, his eyes gleaming bright blue.  She smiles tenderly and smoothes away a wayward lock of hair.  "So beautiful; your wolf has always been so very strong.  Now then, Derek ... do you trust me?"

Derek blinks and answers.  His mother is one of the few people he speaks aloud to no matter what.  _"Of course ..."_

"Then trust that your Pack will do everything we can to unite you with this young man.  You don't have to be alone anymore, sweetheart," Talia promises.

Derek pulls his mother into a tight hug, clutching at her desperately.  _"I broke him ... it's all my fault ..."_

Talia chuckles, not unkindly.  She frames Derek's face between her palms.  "No, my love ... your choice to be silent, to consider your every word was for fear that you would lose control of your wolf and harm someone dear to you.  So deep was your vow to never lose control, it echoed through the bond and manifested in a way no one could have foreseen, Derek."

_"The kanima ... it came because ..."_

"The _kanima_ came because Jackson Whittemore believed he would never have a soulmate and it left him empty.  That is not your fault ... it is not Jackson's fault.  You may as well blame the clouds for no rain when the wildfires rage ... sometimes things happen and we must endure the pain circumstances bring," Talia says softly.  "You will both need to find a path you can walk together.  That path will twist to lead you into new joys and sometimes pain but if he is beside you, all is possible."  She smiles gently, her eyes gleaming red.  "But first, we have to break the hold this interloper has on Jackson."

Derek returns the smile faintly.  Stiles takes the opportunity to pipe up.  "I think I might have an idea about how to do that, actually."


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An update for your holidays ... it fought me so forgive the choppiness.

Derek sits quietly beside his Pack's emissary, Alan Deaton.  The older man is quiet and kind in most situations but Derek knows that he will defend his chosen Pack fiercely even though he's human.  They sit in a natural amphitheater deep within the Preserve surrounding Beacon Hills.  The Council of Three is at the head table while the rocks behind them are full of key Hale Pack members.  Because it's a formal gathering, everyone is dressed in soft, neutral colored fabrics washed in naturally derived detergents so scents are not masked.  The table beside Derek and Deaton remains empty.  The tension is thick in the air because Matt Daehler and his representative have not appeared.  Deaton leans close, his voice barely above a whisper.

"If they don't make a courtesy appearance, we will have grounds to sue for insult," he explains.

Derek frowns.  Matt isn't a werewolf.  He doesn't _have_ a pack to insult.

"Doesn't matter," Alan smiles, understanding Derek's confusion in his usual enigmatic way.  "Human law has provisions for respecting the Fae half of the population.  Insulting a Pack with the rank of the Hales can have a ripple effect throughout the various kinds and kingdoms of the Fae.  No one wants that -- they'll bring him to task over it."

Derek pinches the bridge of his nose.  He doesn't understand how he's even _here_.  He's only been before the Council once before in his life - when he was presented by his mother as a pup.  He was three days old and still shifted in his wolf form.  Talia's favorite holiday dinner story is how he ignored every other pup being presented, walked to the center of the floor, snarled at the Council members and then proceeded to curl up and go to sleep, completely unimpressed with the proceedings.  Today he's fighting for the person he's been waiting for his entire life and he feels just as unimpressed with the formalities.

The sound of a vehicle reaches the ear of every wolf in the place and then a very tall and broad werewolf named Ennis leads three individuals to the table beside Derek's.  Matt Daehler, Jackson, and a third man who makes Derek's stomach sour on sight - Adrian Harris.  Harris is a very human lawyer with a well-known disdain for the Fae races.  Derek lets his gaze drift past Harris, past Daehler to where Jackson sits and, instantly, he's transfixed.  Derek knows Jackson's fighting not to look over.  He tries not to see the collar tightly fastened around the pale neck.  Instead, Derek studies the lean frame and the very obviously hand-tailored suit it wears.  The material is expensive and Derek has to admit Jackson looks very good in it.  He frowns, though, because none of the attendees are wearing the neutral fabrics requested.  No doubt Harris doesn't think he should have to respect another group's traditions.

Deaton's hand lands on his arm and Derek's attention is pulled away.  He frowns but understands the gentle reminder.  He's an Alpha within a high-ranking Pack.  He can't be seen losing control or Matt will win his bid.  He focuses again on the Council.  The Speaker turns his head to the newcomers.

"Adrian Harris, Matthew Daehler and Jackson Whittemore?"

"Drop the high-talk, Duke.  You know who we are and what we're here for," Harris retorts.

A soft gasp travels around the theater at the human's rudeness but Harris doesn't blink.  The Speaker for the Council of Three sits unmoving but the tension in his frame tells Derek the man is angry.  Deucalion has been the Speaker for many years.  He's firm but fair and Derek has known him most of his life; his mother counsels with Deucalion frequently because she trusts his judgement.  He wears dark glasses because he was blinded in a Hunter attack.  The wolf within can still see, however, and Deucalion is not an Alpha Derek would ever want to tangle with physically or otherwise.  Even now, when he clears his throat, every wolf present listens.

"You're in _my_ territory now, Adrian and you _will_ respect these proceedings or I'll have you forcibly removed from our Chamber," Deucalion says coldly.

Harris smirks.  "Threaten all you like, Duke ... you know as well as I do that any assault on my person will result in charges being brought against this 'court' by the _human_ judicial system."

The woman seated beside Deucalion lays her hand on his arm.  She speaks softly but her voice is hardened steel.  "You have a case to make, Adrian Harris.  Make it.  We have no more time to spare for your theatrics."

Harris' eyes narrow but he nods.  "My _case_ , as you so blithely call it, is that the werewolf known as Derek Hale is attempting to steal my client's companion despite the fact that he rejected their so-called 'bond'.  Matthew Daehler has a valid claim on Jackson Whittemore and does not see any reason to relinquish that."

Derek manages to stay absolutely still after Harris' declaration.  His knuckles whiten when he clenches his fists.  Legalese or not, Daehler considers Jackson his property.  His beautiful mate reduced to something so tawdry ... Derek blinks rapidly to stem the tears that suddenly threaten. 

Deucalion head turns slightly toward Derek but when he speaks, it's directed at Jackson.  "Mr. Whittemore, how were you 'claimed' by this human?"

Jackson looks up in surprise but then he feels Matt's gaze on him and he drops his eyes to the table top.  Matt's smug look makes Derek's lip curl but he forces himself to look away toward where his mother sits with Jordan and Stiles.  Their connection as mother and son ripples with warmth and Derek feels his tension ease a little.  He'd forgotten the sensation of safety he always had around Talia growing up.  The calm and steady feeling of love gives him the strength he needs now to endure this travesty with some semblance of the dignity expected from his family name.   He catches a movement out of the corner of his eye and realizes Stiles is signing at him.  Derek and Jordan learned sign language when he was younger to communicate without forcing Derek to speak.  Stiles naturally thought that was awesome and even though he's forgotten a lot of it, Derek can spell out what Stiles is saying.

 _Stay strong, sourwolf._ Derek's lip twitches in amusement.  Only Stiles.

"I claimed Jackson when he --" Matt Daehler begins.

Deucalion holds up a hand.  "I asked Mr. Whittemore for his version of the meeting.  Let him answer."

Matt's eyes narrow.  "I'm his Master.  What _I_ say is what _happened_."

Deucalion's mouth tightens and he leans forward.  "Regardless of what Mr. Harris has led you to believe, human, there is precedence in your courts recognizing the rank of the Hale Pack and also of this Council.  We are gathered here today because one of our own is being forcibly separated from his Soulmate which puts him in danger of going feral and --"

Jackson's head snaps up.  "Feral?  Why?"  He ignores Matt's sudden anger with effort.

Deucalion and the Council turn toward Jackson.  The woman cocks her head curiously.  "You are his Soulmate.  He wears your words on his skin.  If a werewolf is denied his Mate, the wolf will eventually go feral."

"Does -- can that be reversed?"

Deucalion shakes his head.  "No, Mr. Whittemore.  Once a wolf goes feral, he must be put down because he reverts to the very basest of our nature -- the nature that prompted so many legends among humans."

Jackson looks over at Derek who stares at the table's surface with clenched fists before him.  His eyes dart to Matt who sits beside him with an expression on his face Jackson knows far too well.  It's a look that promises him punishment later because he dared to defy by even considering himself worthy of having an opinion.  Hazy memories float to the surface of his mind unbidden -- the world seen through the _kanima's_ eyes while his will faded to near non-existence under Matt's thrall.  Dark rooms ... flashes of pain ... chains ... blood ...

Jackson lurches to his feet, sending his chair scraping back.  Long translucent claws tip his digits and he rakes them down his arms turning the expensive suit into ragged strips of fabric.  He holds his arms out to the Council.  "But I _can't_ be his Mate ... I don't have any words ... _why don't I have any words_?!?"

Matt, furious that Jackson is even participating when he was _told_ to remain still and quiet, stands up with a disgusted sound.  He shoves Jackson hard, forcing the young man to stumble back and drop into his seat.  Before Jackson can gather himself, Matt's hand grips his nape and slams him forward.  His nose erupts in blood when it cracks into the table top, stunning him.  A sound, low and deadly, reverberates through the Council chambers.  Every eye comes to focus on Deucalion and the Council as they rise, eyes blazing red.  Adrian Harris jerks his client away from Jackson with a snarled, "You fucking _idiot_!"

Derek is on his feet staring directly at Matt.  Muscles all along Derek's arms and torso tremor with the Herculean effort of holding back the wolf within.  Derek's pupils are crimson.  His knuckles crackle as he curls and uncurls his claws.  He  _longs_ to tear Matt's throat out.  Talia breaks protocol and steps to her son's side.  Derek's body doesn't relax but he takes great comfort in his mother's touch when she puts a similarly clawed hand on his shoulder.  The familiar itchy sensation of Stiles' magic reaches Derek and he knows without a glance that Jordan and his Mate are on their feet as well, ready to defend or fight for him.  As if she knows his thoughts, Talia murmurs, "We are _all_ ready, my son."

Deucalion's voice is rough with anger when he speaks again.  "Talia Hale, Alpha to Hale Pack, what is your intent to the _kanima_ known as Jackson Whittemore?"

Talia steps forward and responds.  "We extend to Jackson Whittemore an offer of Joining.  He may enter our Pack without requirement regarding his bond to my son.  Instead, he will be as a lone male with no familial ties, ranking as lowest but independent of my line."

"You can't just _take_ him!  He belongs to me!" Matt screeches into the lull.

Deucalion frowns toward their table.  "Your client, _Adrian_?"

Harris tightens his grip on Matt's arm but the other man jerks away and towers over Jackson.  "You think you can just leave me?  I _own_ you!  _I'm your Master_!"

The _kanima_ emerges lightning fast, finishing off Jackson's suit.  Derek knows what's coming and launches himself over the tables.  He tackles the _kanima_ to the floor.  It writhes beneath him hissing angrily.  Derek feels his body shift into its beta form.  He rolls with the creature as it fights to free itself and desperately tries to avoid the _kanima's_ claws and their paralyzing venom.  He succeeds briefly but the _kanima_ suddenly twists and the werewolf finds himself swatted away by the thick, powerful tail.  He comes to a sliding halt and leaps to his feet in time to see Daehler, red-faced, screaming madly at the creature.

_"Kill them!  Kill them all!  I'm your Master!"_

For a moment, Derek is terrified that he's going to watch his Soulmate die at the hands of his Pack and that he might lose a few of them, as well in a close-quarter battle against the beast. 

_" ... no ... please ..."_

The words are dragged out of Derek by his fear.  The _kanima's_ head snaps around and Derek is speared by yellow reptilian eyes.  It hesitates, looking between Daehler, who's still screaming hoarsely and Derek, who stretches out with one hand.  Its tail whips back and forth as it regards him, sidling closer with wary bursts of movement.  Derek holds the gleaming gaze and doesn't flinch when a scaled hand extends toward his own.  Before the two palms can connect, the _kanima_  screeches at someone over Derek's shoulder, pulling back.  Derek throws out an arm to ward off any would-be protectors from his Pack but then another voice booms across the room.

"Everyone back off!"

Jordan's words travel across the chamber and make the hair on the back of Derek's neck rise.  He can smell ozone, which means Jordan is seriously pissed.  The hellhound stalks to stand just beside Derek but a step or two in front of him.  Derek can see Jordan's eyes glowing orange as he looks over the Pack behind Derek.

"Jackson won't hurt Derek!"  Jordan barks.  "Let him decide -- Derek or Daehler." 

"You don't know that - that _thing_ won't harm him, Parrish!  He's our alpha's son!"

Jordan growls at the speaker.  "He's _my_ brother!  You all know me ... do you really think I'd stand by and let _anyone_ harm him?  _Do you?!"_

No one moves.  Jordan turns and looks at the creature huddled on the floor.  He knows there's a human trapped behind the scales but he doesn't know if that will be enough to keep the beast from attacking Derek.  The venom it carries won't affect him so he knows he can easily protect his brother if he has to -- but will Derek ever forgive him if he has to kill Jackson to do that?

The _kanima_ is crouched between the two men who would lay claim to it.  Its mouth is open slightly and it takes the scents of both.  One is bitter but familiar -- the Master it has known for so long now.  The other ...  the _kanima_ inches closer to the wolf, entranced by the strangely spicy smell emanating from him.  The scent is soft and undemanding.  The _kanima_ notices that the wolf has lowered his hand.  It cocks its head curiously to one side and chitters at the wolf. 

Derek sees the creature's confusion.  He swallows hard, unable to form words.

"Your voice isn't the only way you can reach him, brother," Jordan's soft voice reaches Derek through the rushing water in his ears.  "You and I understand each other without it now but we had another way when we were little."

Derek realizes that Stiles' signing earlier had another purpose than just amusing support.  The Spark was deliberately making him remember his youth when he could only communicate through sign language.  When his words weren't spoken but drawn in the air through graceful hand and arm movements.  Derek looks over at Stiles who winks at him and then at Jordan who offers a one-shoulder shrug. 

"What can I say, the kid's a little scary with all he knows," the hellhound says.

Derek closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.  He sinks down to kneel in front of the _kanima_ which hisses uneasily.  There is a rumble of discontent from the Pack and Derek knows they don't approve but he's past the point of caring.  He raises his hands and digs deeply into his memories.  He begins to talk, haltingly at first and then with more confidence as his memories return. 

 _When my words appeared, I was afraid.  They made it seem as though I would hurt you someday so badly that you would beg me to stop.  I couldn't bear the thought of ever doing that to you, my precious Soulmate.  It made me sick to even imagine it.  I forced myself to learn control ... control so strong that nothing -- not even my wolf -- could ever break free.  I held my wolf back so tightly that it took away my voice.  I became mute._ Derek feels tears sliding down his face but he makes himself continue.  _I never dreamed what that would mean one day._ Derek meets the _kanima's_ eyes and flashes his own blue gaze.  _Jackson, you had no words because I had none to give you.  It didn't -- it doesn't' mean that I didn't live with the dream of you every day.  Everything I am is yours if you want it, Jackson._

Jordan stops talking and Derek's hands fall to his sides.  He doesn't even know if the _kanima_ understood him but he's said what he needed to say.  For a long moment, all Derek hears is the roar of his own blood.  He watches as the _kanima_ crouches before him.  He's struck again by its strange beauty and the sharp pine scent that it carries.  Inhuman eyes study him intently and then the creature leans forward and presses cool scales against Derek's forehead.  He gasps as his world narrows to a single thread connecting him to the _kanima_.  He feels its utter submission to him.  Just behind that, as if behind a frosted veil, Derek senses Jackson.  His Soulmate is less conceding.  Derek feels resistance and for now, that's fine with him.  He lets as much assurance as he can bleed into the link while in the physical world, he reaches up and slices off the collar with his claws.

"Look out!"

Derek registers Stiles' voice even as the scaled body in his arms twists lightning fast.  Matt Daehler meets the _kanima's_ tail with a loud _thwack_.  He crashes into Adrian Harris and together their impact sends the table tumbling over.  The _kanima_ screeches at the moaning men on the floor but doesn't leave Derek's side.  It paces in front of the werewolf, head turning to and fro as it tries to keep an eye on everyone.  Jordan snorts.

"Looks like he's adopted you, brother."

Derek exhales with a shaky nod.  He can't bring himself to think about what's going to happen now.


	6. Chapter 6

The _kanima_ gradually gives way to Jackson's human side during the drive back to Derek's loft.  He's naked, cold and curled up in Derek's lap like a toddler but for the moment, Jackson wants this -- it's going to bug the hell out of him later but right now anything is better than Matt.  He feels Derek press against his hair to inhale his scent.  The longing that wells up in Jackson is embarrassing but he leans up to reciprocate the gesture.  Spiced leather fills his nostrils leaving him almost drooling at the smell's intensity.  Thick tendrils slither into his awareness, drifting down his windpipe and expanding his lungs.  Jackson shifts to straddle Derek's lap as he finds the pulse just beneath the heated skin.  Here the scent is strongest and it comes in heavy waves with each pound of Derek's heart.

"I swear I'm stopping this car if any nakedness happens back there," Stiles warns.

"Babe, Jackson's already naked," Jordan points out.

Stiles shoots his Mate a glare.  "Fine ... any _more_ nakedness.  There will not be any sex in this vehicle while I'm present, understand, sourwolf?"

Derek's head is thrown back to give Jackson easier access to his throat.  Honestly, if Jackson wanted it, Derek knows he'd risk the Spark's anger but he isn't feeling any arousal from the other man.  The bond is making itself known and since scent plays such a huge part in their respective instincts, Jackson's actions are just exploratory at this point.  His wolf pants happily within Derek and he lazily flips off Stiles for his warnings.

"Really, dude?  You, who won't let me eat _anything_ in _your_ car because you claim it stinks up everything but now I'm supposed to let you and your boy toy just --"

"God does he _ever_ shut up?" Jackson mutters against Derek's neck. 

Jordan snorts and reaches across to put his hand over Stiles' mouth.  "Just drive, babe.  Pretty sure Derek still remembers you spouting Shakespearean sonnets at me when we bonded."

Stiles glares and pulls away.  "Fine but in my defense I was _dying_.  You can't hold what a man says when he's _dying_ against him."  He looks in the rear-view mirror and Derek flashes blue eyes at him.  "Yeah, whatever, wolfy."  He jerks his thumb toward the back the of the Jeep.  "There's a duffel bag back there with your sweats and a hoodie -- spare me the glaring, Jackson.  You guys can do all the naked when you get home."

Derek pulls the duffel over the seat and fishes out just what Stiles promised.  He cocks an eyebrow at the Spark while Jackson slides off him and worms into his clothes.  Stiles grins and his amber eyes flare ever so slightly.  "Precognition, dude.  Told you it was a useful trick to know."

Jackson pauses in pulling the hoodie on.  "You can see the future?"

Stiles shrugs.  "It's pretty limited -- only family and only maybe a few hours at best."

Jackson nods thoughtfully while he resettles himself in Derek's lap and pulls up the hood to surround himself with the wolf’s scent.  “But what you see ... it can change?"

Jordan chuckles and looks at Derek. "Great, we've got another 'curious george'."

"Hey, great minds seek answers," Stiles defends Jackson's question.  "And yes, what I see is just a snapshot of that path at that moment.  I don't do it very often because I wouldn't be the first Spark to lose their mind trying to anticipate what _might_ happen."

"You didn't try to change anything, you just prepared for a possible outcome," Jackson muses.  "Did you see one where I _didn't_ end up with Derek?"

"Nope," Stiles replies.  "Honestly, I'm guessing it would have taken a meteor landing on the Council chamber to keep you from being taken back by Matt."

Jackson steals a quick look at Derek who tightens his arms slightly and nuzzles against Jackson's head.  Jackson blushes but he leans into the embrace.  He's waiting for it to feel wrong but the more he's near Derek, the better he feels.  It's not love ... not yet, anyway ... but it's better than anything Jackson has known previously.

Stiles grins over at Jordan who brushes his knuckles against Stiles' cheek.  He loves Stiles and he's glad that maybe now his brother will have a chance at what he's found.  He doesn't think about the fact that Matt Daehler swore he'd take Jackson back if it was the last thing he ever did.  Jordan privately promises himself that he'll end Daehler before he lets the human hurt Derek or his new soulmate.  And he'll enjoy every minute of it.

* * *

Stiles and Jordan opt to spend the night at the main Hale Pack house.  Jordan hugs Derek tightly and the brothers press foreheads together.  Stiles stands near Jackson who watches uneasily.

"They're just really, really close," Stiles explains.  "You get used to it.  Derek ... when he cares about someone he goes all in so you don't have to worry about his eye wandering."  Jackson gives Stiles an ‘of course' look which prompts a tight smile.  "Give it a chance, Jackson.  Trust me, it's not all bonding pheromones and violins.  The soulmate bond forms because there's something unique in you that only Derek can sense and accept.  Same goes for you -- some part of Derek speaks to you in a way no one else can.  Looks, education, titles ... none of the pointless shit that people try to make important means anything next to the bond you two are forming."  Stiles puts a light hand on Jackson's shoulder.  In a deep voice he intones, "'Search your feelings, you know it to be true!'"

Jackson snorts.  "You are such a nerd."

Jordan grins and pulls Stiles against him.  "Yeah but you haven't seen Derek's guest room yet — ‘The Empire Strikes Back’ sheets!”

Derek's ears suddenly darken with a blush that travels down his face and neck.  Jackson finds it strangely adorable on the mostly serious and taciturn man.  He rolls his eyes and throws up his hands.  "Great ... of course I end up with the Scooby Gang."

Stiles' laughter echoes in Derek's ears as he leads Jackson into the empty apartment building and then up to the loft.  It's a laugh that the Spark reserves for his friends -- open, bright and full of sincere humor.  It's a sign that even though Derek feels Jackson's defiance building again, the young man has real hope that Jackson belongs in their world.  He watches Jackson look wide-eyed at the loft but frowns when he sees a shiver travel through the lean frame.

 _“Cold?"_ He manages.

"No ... just ... "  Jackson hugs himself tightly and the shame that pours off him twists the sweet honey-citrus scent into something sour and wrong.  Derek's wolf whines internally.  Jackson talks to his bare feet.  "You know that my ma-- that Matt made me _do_ things, right?"  He looks up.  "Kinky sex doesn't even scratch the surface."

Derek momentarily remembers where Jackson was when they 'met'.  He frowns darkly.  _"Not ...?"_

Jackson blinks in confusion and then shakes his head.  His eyes look away when he says,  "No ... Matt would never share me like that.  At least ... I don’t think he would.  He said he didn’t.”

It's not what Derek wants to hear but he also doesn't want to push Jackson right now.  The bond is newly opened and fragile.  As they get to know one another, it will form into the connection they will share the rest of their lives.  He reaches over and gently turns Jackson's head with a finger on his chin.  Derek's voice is soft because he's still getting used to communicating this way.  He tries to keep his words kind but clear.   _"H_ _e used you.  I won't."_

Jackson's mouth twists.  "Everyone uses everyone eventually."

Derek tilts his head to one side.  _"I'm not everyone."_

Jackson watches Derek's green eyes for a moment before jamming his hands deep in the hoodie pockets.  "So ... I thought you couldn't talk."

Derek's expression is amused at the sudden deflection.   _"I can talk ... just never wanted to."_

"What, I inspired you to suddenly become a chatterbox?"

Derek walks over to his kitchen island and pulls open a drawer.  He berates himself internally because now he's the one trying to deflect.  With a sigh, he sets out take-out menus.  _"Hungry?"_

Jackson follows and slides onto a stool.  He barely glances at the menus before choosing one for a small taco shack.  Derek doesn't miss the one his fingers brushed over first, however.  "Whatever you want, I'm good with anything." 

Derek pulls out a menu for his favorite local steakhouse that delivers.  His uncle Peter runs it and while he might not exactly _like_ Peter, the man knows his red meat.  He lays it over the other menu.  _"You went for this first ... would you really rather have tacos?"_

"No, but we just met and --"

Derek snorts.  He grabs the menu and calls, asking for Peter.  He only asks Jackson a couple of questions before hanging up.  Then he grabs a beer and offers one to Jackson. 

 _"I'm not him,"_ Derek says, leaning against the counter.  _"Forget whatever he told you ... you don't belong to anyone but yourself."_

"Right," Jackson says.  "The _kanima_ feels a little differently about that and when it submits ... " Jackson shrugs.  "It's just easier to go along with whatever you want."

Derek forces his wolf down.  It wants to dominate and make the other man see reason but Derek knows that'll only send Jackson out the nearest door.  _"You aren't the kanima.  It chose you because you lost hope.  You have your own will.  Use it."_

Jackson blinks and before Derek can even draw another breath, surges across the counter and locks mouths with Derek.  The werewolf grunts in surprise but oh gods it feels good to be kissing Jackson. Derek tugs the hood back from Jackson’s head and slides his fingers up into the short-cropped hair. He tightens his grip and holds his soulmate to him while his tongue slides around Jackson’s. He strains to taste every bit of the other man’s mouth. Jackson obliges by wrapping surprisingly strong thighs around Derek’s waist. Their cocks press against each other and Derek snarls. Jackson moans in response. One of Derek’s hands dives below the waistband of Jackson’s borrowed sweats to squeeze the soft flesh of the younger man’s buttock. Jackson arches against Derek and hisses, “Yes ... yes ... pleasssse ...”

Derek pulls out of the kiss and looks at Jackson. Yellow, reptilian eyes look back at him and Derek startles to realize Jackson just deflected the entire conversation the only way he knew how — using his body. He drags in ragged breaths as he struggles to regain control.

_“N-no ... Jackson, no ... we c-can’t ...”_

”Yesss,” the _kanima_ whispers as Jackson’s skin begins to mottle. “Sssssooo good .... take ... pleasssse ... pleassse take .... “

Derek never forgets the sound that comes out of Jackson when he forcefully removes the man from him and sets him on the counter. It’s something between an angry trill and an outright dismayed wail. It’s barely human because the _kanima_ is fighting to emerge. Derek feels hot tears sliding down his face and he reaches for Jackson. His soulmate, half-shifted, moves lightning fast to flee. Derek’s wolf surges to the forefront and he follows, his speed not quite up to Jackson’s but his knowledge of the territory makes up for it.

The _kanima_ heads for higher ground and Derek meets it on one of the long support beams in the exposed ceiling of the loft. The creature calls out, angry and confused. Derek’s voice falters in his throat and he shakes his head, reaching toward Jackson. The human is still present - Jackson’s pale skin is visible beneath the _kanima’s_ markings. He’s still partially in control and Derek forces his throat to work. His speech is broken and stilted but audible to the reptilian figure across from him.

_”Want you ... need you ... won’t take you ... won’t use you!”_

Jackson snarls, his fangs dripping with venom. “Not ... Masssster ... _**coward!**_ ”

Derek reels back. He swallows hard and looks away. Memories flood him of every time he made a mistake and someone else paid.  The _kanima_  pushes aside Jackson’s sudden hesitation and attacks. Derek sees it coming but he only waits for the slicing claws that sting his face.  His muscles go instantly lax and Derek plunges off the beam toward the cement floor. He wishes he could close his eyes — even a werewolf can die from a split skull and he really doesn’t want to see it.

Then Derek hears a grunting curse and his fall is suddenly broken by something firm but considerably softer than the loft floor.  His nose picks out spiced leather covered in dead leaves with an overall layer of grilled meat.  Peter.  The _kanima_  shrieks and Derek hears it leaping from beam to beam in order to gain position and attack his uncle.

“Oh for fuck’s sake, seriously?”

Derek’s head suddenly flops back when Peter releases him. He hears the squeaking crunch of a styrofoam container giving way under the weight of his skull. Something wet and goopy oozes into his hair — flour and pepper tell Derek it’s probably the gravy on the mashed potatoes. Spectacular. His soulmate is probably going to kill his uncle and he’s going to lie in the remains of his take-out dinner listening to it.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After Tax Day I was in the mood for a little angst and a little smut. Enjoy!

Jackson stares out at the industrial district where Derek's building sits on the edge.  Everywhere he looks Jackson sees steel and rust.  Oil and dirt and exhaust smells permeate the air along with any number of parts and products that travel through the narrow roads between buildings.  If he concentrates, Jackson can understand the conversations between workers -- orders being yelled, jokes being shared, and the echo of a hundred heartbeats.  He doesn't understand why but he already knows he could live here forever with the cacophony of life just outside the door.  It's peaceful in a way and a wry grin tugs at one corner of his mouth as Jackson imagines his adopted parents' reaction.  His father, David Whittemore, would be all stern disapproval.  His mother, Elaine, would  _tsk_ and click her tongue in a way that sets Jackson's teeth on edge.  It's a sound fused with his childhood memories and it means he's fallen short in some way.  By the time he'd graduated from high school, Jackson was ready to leave and never look back.  So he did.  He wonders vaguely if they still live in Beacon Hills.

"How are the burns?"

Jackson frowns and looks over his shoulder.  Peter Hale joins him at the balcony railing.  He leans back with his arms crossed and regards Jackson blithely.  The younger man snorts.

"Healed right after I threw your ass into the wall," Jackson replies smugly.

The fight between them had been short.  Thanks to the _kanima's_ driving sense of justice, Jackson smells the taint of death on Peter but he's not sure if it's by the werewolf's own hand or just an unlucky life.  Regardless, the elder Hale arrived not only with dinner but a military-grade shock rod that felt like a lightning strike to the _kanima_.  Riding the brief wave of clarity brought on by intense pain,  Jackson had petulantly batted the man half-way up the wall by the stairs.  He then passed out and shifted back to human.

Jackson looks back across the view.  "Derek send you to pass on the bad news?"

"And what bad news would that be?"

"That I'm a danger to your Pack and an abomination.  That he can't take the risk of letting me into your lives?"

Peter chuckles.  "Remind me someday to tell you about the time I went insane and tried to kill every human in Beacon Hills."  He leans close when Jackson shoots him a confused look.  "You're his _soulmate,_ Jackson.  If it comes to that, Derek will leave Beacon Hills with _you_."

Jackson shakes his head.  "That's insane ... he's an Alpha.  He'll die without his Pack."

"He'll do worse than that without you."

Jackson looks back at the loft.  Derek sits at the kitchen island with a beer in front of him.  He's not drinking, just staring at the bottle miserably.  "The Council said he could go feral?"

Peter hums.  "Indeed.  It was why the Pack was ready to fight to bring you to Derek."

Jackson's eyes narrow.  "So I'm just the pacifier to keep him sane?"

A crash draws both their attentions back to the loft.  The stool lies turned over on the floor and Derek slaps the beer off the counter to shatter against the wall beside the window.  He stands shaking with his fists clenched at his side.  The bond vibrates with Derek's rage which makes Jackson want to jump over the railing to escape.  The _kanima_ presses hard on his conscious mind and it takes everything Jackson has to hold it at bay.  Green eyes bore into his own.

_"I'm not them." _

Jackson lets his tears fall.  "I'm not worth it.  I'm not worth _you_."

Peter shakes his head.  "Jackson, Derek was a child when he realized he might someday hurt you.  He forced himself into silence and self-control the likes of which I'd never known was possible in someone so young.  When I asked him why he would do something so monumentally stupid in my opinion for someone he'd never even met ---"

Jackson rolls his eyes and sneers even as he sniffles.  "What ... he said that a soulmate is worth any sacrifice?  True love is worth anything?"

Peter leans close, his breath hot on Jackson's cheek.  Jackson knows the _kanima_ could easily dispatch the werewolf but his human side is all too vulnerable.  Instinct freezes him where he stands.  "It's rude to interrupt young _kanima,"_ Peter growls. 

A cool smile erupts on Peter's face when another growl rumbles through the night air.  The elder Hale straightens and looks over at his nephew standing in the doorway, eyes glowing ominously.  Peter spreads his hands away from his body and takes a few steps back from Jackson.  Derek's frame relaxes as he moves closer to Jackson.  Peter smirks.

"Yes, young Jackson, I can see just how little Derek thinks of you," Peter murmurs.  "I'll leave you two love birds to fight this out.  I'd leave the rod but well ... "

Derek points tiredly toward the door and Peter goes with a shrug.  As he passes his nephew, Derek reaches out and stops him.  He leans in and gently bumps Peter's jaw.  It's gratitude that Peter did, in fact, save his life earlier that evening and acknowledgement that they are, even for as much as they snipe and snarl at each other, still Pack.  Peter brushes his knuckles against Derek's temple.

"Anything for family, nephew."

* * *

 "Sorry about dinner,"  Jackson apologizes.  He looks out the window where the sky is beginning to lighten.  "Spent the whole night dealing with my shit."

Derek slumps into his favorite chair.  He leans his head back to look at the ceiling and exhales softly.  _"Do you want me?"_

Jackson frowns.  "Do I want you?  What the hell sort of question is that?"

Derek looks back impassively.  _"You thought I didn't exist.  You were ready for a life with ... him ... because you didn't think you'd ever have a soulmate.  Do you even want this?"_

Jackson suspects that little speech is something of a miracle for Derek.  It makes him wonder about something else.  "Why do you only talk to me?"

Derek blinks, momentarily confused by the switch in direction.  He considers the past few days and realizes Jackson is right.  He looks up at Jackson.  _"Does it matter?"_

Jackson turns away then, fighting back tears.  He hates that he can't keep up his walls with Derek.  He hates that the werewolf makes him vulnerable to all the emotions he hides away from everyone else.

Derek's hand is warm on his shoulder.  He's wearing more borrowed clothes since his little shift earlier shredded his previous wardrobe.  Jackson wants to pull away but at the same time he wants to bury his face in Derek's neck and inhale until he forgets what anything else smells like.  The werewolf pulls gently and Jackson turns, expecting to be pulled into an embrace.  Instead, Derek's hand shifts and holds him back.  It hurts deep inside like a rejection.  Jackson whines softly.

"Please, Derek, don't --"

Derek's eyes shine with unshed tears.  He runs his hands through his hair and swallows the rock that's lodged in his throat.  He signs "I love you" once, twice, then three times. 

"You don't even _know_ me," Jackson protests.

_What the hell is wrong with me?  Why can't I just take this one thing for myself?_

_Because I'm not good enough.  I didn't have faith.  I let others use me.  I'm damaged goods._

Derek feels the despair filling Jackson and shakes his head.  He holds out his arms.  Jackson looks away but Derek slaps the skin on his forearm to make Jackson look back.  He holds them out again and Jackson finally looks at the ink.  He's never really paid much attention to Derek's tattoos.  His assumption that the man was just embarrassed of his soulmate too hard to let go of at first.  But now that he actually _sees_ them, he's drawn to the artwork.  Initially, he sees trees but then he notices the wolves.  Hidden in the lines of the bark and leaves are two wolves running through the forest.  And as he stares, the original message suddenly appears tucked away in the background.  "Please stop hurting me."  Jackson sees the letters as if nothing obscured them and he traces them with his finger.  Derek nudges Jackson with his other arm and the young man looks at the second piece of work.  He doesn't expect much other than a different tattoo -- this arm doesn't have any hidden messages.  Or so he thinks. 

Jackson's eyes study the tattoo.  He sees the moon done in shades of bone white and pale gray.  It feels insubstantial, like it might blow away in a tendril of smoke any minute.  But as Jackson gazes at the orb, he realizes the shading reveals something.  It takes a minute to understand what he's looking at and then he grabs Derek's arm to pull it closer. 

"You -- but ... _how_ \--?"

The moon is a snake curled up and the scale pattern is his own.  Below, hidden in the misty clouds is a wolf, muzzle raised in worship of the lunar body.  Jackson's tears spill out but he can't believe what he's seeing.  Derek gently tips Jackson's chin up and thumbs away a track of moisture. 

_"Only Jordan knows how I dreamed of snakes and wolves and the moon growing up.  Your eyes ... the eyes of the kanima ... I've wanted nothing more than to see you in those eyes my entire life.  I filled notebooks with drawings of them."_

Jackson shivers.  He's so confused.  All his life he's considered himself an abomination -- first because he had no soulmate and then because the _kanima_ took him and made him into a monster that most fae condemn.  He looks up and his vision is that of the _kanima_.  Derek sighs when the yellow slit-pupiled gaze settles on him.  He raises his hand to Jackson's cheek and feels the scales forming there.

_"So beautiful_ ," Derek murmurs.

Jackson's voice is soft and sibilant.  "Pleasssse ..."

Derek knows they're just reacting to the soulmate bond.  He knows he should be stronger.  He knows he shouldn't lean in and kiss the plump lips.  He feels the ache settle in his groin and his body is too tired to resist.  Derek jerks Jackson against him and his wolf thrills to the moan it pulls from the other man.  Jackson's tongue is long ... too long and it twines around his own like a snake itself.  It's not disgust that he feels though.  It's pure, unadulterated _want_.  Derek can't believe he's actually holding his soulmate -- the one person he thought he'd never find or never be able to reach.  He wants to bury himself in Jackson's body . . .

Derek's eyes open and he breaks off the kiss, gasping a little.  Jackson's eyes are unfathomable as Derek fumbles for the words.   _“I want you ... want to take you ...”_

Jackson’s lips curl into a knowing smile.  He pulls his shirt off, revealing the dark lines of scales slithering down his torso.  He shimmies out of his jeans just as quickly and stands bared before Derek.  The shining scales slide in and out of view which is odd to Jackson but he doesn’t care.  Derek’s heartbeat is hard and fast — the rich leather scent fills the air with the wolf’s arousal.  Crisp pine prefaces Jackson’s readiness along with a engorged cock that springs not from a dark nest of curls but rather from a nearly black emerald bed of scales.  Derek’s struggle to control himself ends with a hungry snarl before he drops to his knees and greedily laves his tongue over the wonderfully hot shaft.  

Jackson’s head falls back with a low trill vibrating in his throat.  The  _kanima_ markings continue to dance over his skin and he feels his fangs dropping.  His  _Mate/Master_ is so gentle, his rough tongue caressing, teasing, pleasing ...

”Oh gods ...  _Derek_ ...” Jackson pushes to the forefront and gasps.  

Light stings slide down his member and Jackson gapes down at the werewolf.  Derek’s wolf visage is prominent and his eyes gleam like rubies.   _His_ fangs ever so gently move downward and then Derek growls.

The vibration travels backward along Jackson’s cock to his scrotum and then explodes in his lower belly.  He releases a strange warble that somehow makes Derek moan wantonly which sends more waves through Jackson’s body.  He keens his pleasure mindlessly and his legs tremble violently.  Derek releases him after swallowing down the wonderfully potent seed.  Derek wonders vaguely if it’s possible to become addicted to cum and thinks Stiles might be able to find out.  He giggles softly at the image of Stiles’ horrified expression.

Jackson, unable to stay upright, sinks down into Derek’s arms.  They somehow manage to clumsily climb onto the long sofa before sleep takes them.  The bond is heavy and replete.  The sun disappears behind dark clouds and it starts to rain.


	8. Chapter 8

Stiles blinks awake.  He lies still for a moment, trying to figure out what woke him.  He hears the burble of the coffee machine making his morning caffeine hit.  A smile plays across Stiles' mouth momentarily pushing other concerns aside.  Even exhausted, his mate never forgets to set up the coffee for the morning.  Stiles feels the warmth of his mate's back against his own.  He loves Jordan more than he ever thought he could love _anyone_ , the fierce devotion he has for his dad aside. 

Stiles frowns, his thoughts drawn back to what dragged him out of his sleep.  Carefully keeping himself calm so he doesn't disturb Jordan, Stiles sends out a tendril of energy to test the immediate vicinity.  He doesn't immediately sense any non-mundane presence but he knows a practitioner can easily hide if they know what they're doing.  He lets a little more energy flow into the probe.  Still nothing untoward reacts to his investigation so Stiles retreats.  He feels ... odd.  Something isn't right but for the life of him, he can't pinpoint what it might be.

With a glance over his shoulder to make sure his mate is still asleep, Stiles sends out a broad blanket of energy.  He's just checking the usual suspects now -- burst pipe, stove left on, maybe an unseen electrical short -- thunder rumbles in the distance.  Stiles shoots upright.  The link between the mates vibrates like a live wire and Jordan is instantly awake.

It's hard but Jordan doesn't speak.  He knows the Spark will explain if and when he can.  For the moment, all he can do is wait while their bond swirls with confusion and not a little fear.

The younger man counts and he reaches six before they hear another soft growl of sound.   When a second flash flickers the early morning shadows, Stiles begins his count again.  Jordan hears 'four' hiss from Stiles' lips and a very loud clap of thunder shakes the building.  Stiles scrambles out of bed, cursing.  Jordan is on his feet as well, vow of silence forgotten.  The hellhound's eyes glow brilliant orange.

"Stiles?  Babe, what is it?"

"The storm ... something ... it's ... too _sharp_ ,"  Stiles mutters distractedly, his hands clenching tightly at his side. 

Jordan frowns thoughtfully.  He takes a deep breath and tries to logic things out.  "Can you tell its intent?"

For an instant, warm gratitude floods their bond.  It saddens Jordan a little but he responds immediately with reassurance.  A Spark is an anomaly even among the fae and Stiles has lived his entire life being different in a world _full_ of different.  It's left him hesitant about revealing the things he feels or senses.  Jordan accepts the way his mate's powers manifest even when it makes no sense whatsoever to him like saying a storm is 'too sharp'.  Jordan moves to Stiles' side and presses a soft kiss against the dark, mussed hair.

"I've got you, Stiles.  I love you ... now what else has you rattled?"

Stiles swallows hard and meets Jordan's eyes.  "We have to get to Jackson."

Jordan races for his phone.

* * *

Something pulls Derek from sleep. He rolls over and his hand lands in a cool spot on the sheets where Jackson should be -- Derek cracks an eye open and tracks the familiar heartbeat to the room's window.  His eyes flash briefly in appreciation at the naked, lean form.  Jackson doesn't turn, he just stares out at the dark clouds heralding a storm.  Derek sits up with a yawn and a very wolfish grin on his face.  Yesterday had been ... well, for starters Derek's muscles are _sore._ His mate is a very physical lover and for the first time ever, Derek doesn't have to hold back.  They're so evenly matched ... Derek feels a shiver travel his spine at the memory of Jackson pinning him down with barely any effort while dragging sounds out Derek the werewolf will _never_ admit.  Another yawn interrupts his fantasy and Derek stretches, everything peaceful and perfect.

He reaches along the newly formed bond. 

Black, viscous rage suffuses the link.  With a pained whine, Derek throws up his arms in defense and reels backwards.  Stars dance across his vision as his skull connects with the hardwood floor.  The wolf forces itself to the surface and Derek does a full-shift before his muddled human brain understands the threat.  Eyes glowing brightly, the wolf faces off with the _kanima_ now crouching on all fours before it.  A snarl twists the wolf's muzzle even as it retreats a step or two, recognizing the creature before it as Mate.  The _kanima_ screeches at the wolf.  Outside, the storm beats against the building with all the force of a hurricane.  Rain pelts the glass along with hail and unnaturally bright lightning that make both beasts' eyes narrow to slits.  Still bound to each other through an invisible chain, the wolf and the _kanima_ eye one another warily around one another in the bedroom.  Downstairs, the large picture window shatters.

* * *

Jordan bursts into the loft with a roar, his body covered in orange flame.  Glittering shards of glass rain down around him only to splash to the floor as molten drops.  Behind him, golden lightning arcs up the side of the building.  Stiles rises slowly through the rain to land easily on the balcony; his Spark flows over him in crackling amber.  White-hot bolts fall from the conjured storm but they deflect harmlessly away from Stiles.  He stalks inside and  to follow Jordan up the loft stairs.  His bond with Jordan vibrates with their shared rage. 

The wolf flies out into the narrow hallway as they reach the landing.  It crashes into the far wall and falls to the floor with a sickening thump.  Jordan snarls savagely at the _kanima_ braced in the bedroom doorway.  The _kanima_ tilts its head back and shrieks.  The sound is like nails on a chalkboard and it's all Jordan can do not to clap his hands over his ears.  Instead, he roars again, causing the building to shudder.  It's hard to remember that somewhere in the scaled form is a young man named Jackson Whittemore.  Stiles places a hand on his shoulder and sends calm through the bond.

"You two done shouting at each other?" he asks, amused. 

Jordan feels a little more grounded but he never looks away from the yellow reptilian eyes.  His ears strain to catch Derek's breathing and can just make out labored gasps.  The bitter scent of the _kanima's_ venom is everywhere.  Jordan tenses as Stiles steps past him, moving toward the _kanima._ The Spark squeezes his Mate's shoulder.  The creature seems hesitant.  The naked aggression it shows toward Derek and Jordan shifts into a wary uncertainty toward Stiles. 

Stiles knows Derek's paralysis is going to last a while.  He also knows that if the _kanima_ attacks, Jordan will defend.  It's the worst case scenario because Jordan would rather die than hurt Derek in any way but instinct is a powerful thing especially between soulmates.  Jordan will kill the _kanima_ before he allows it to harm Stiles and no force on Earth fae or mundane will be able to stop him.  A soft whine makes Stiles pause.

"I know, sourwolf," Stiles says quietly, eyes always on the _kanima._ "But this isn't your soulmate ... it's Daehler.  He's buried himself deep like a tick."  To the _kanima_ , he asks, "Where'd you learn the rite, Matt?  You don't have a drop of fae in your body."

From the depths of the _kanima's_ throat comes a warbled version of Matt Daehler's voice.  "I fucking thank all the gods for that every day, druid."  A low chuckle burbles out, sounding strange from the _kanima's_ mouth.  "Money buys anything, Stiles ... and Jackson has _lots_ of money."

The wolf growls behind Stiles.  The Spark snorts.  "Dime store mages ... you think you can just say a few words and get what you want?" Stiles frowns.  "You're tampering with the natural order, Matt.  The universe will balance the scales ... and you aren't going to like it.  Jackson is bound to Derek.  He always has been."

"You don't know anything, druid.  Jackson is _mine_.  He swore himself to me ... he _gave_ himself to me."

A howl of pain escapes the _kanima._ It claws at itself and the scales tear away in places.  The mottled green pattern shifts madly and suddenly cracks appear across the creature's torso.  The edges glow orange like they're burning and slowly, they _are_ burning ... gradually, patches of pale skin appear.  The wolf huffs weakly and struggles to push itself upright only to fall in a heap again.  The _kamina's_ head whips back and forth as it fights an internal battle.  Stiles takes a step closer.  Jordan, whose flame has faded and only his eyes glow orange, mutters, "Be careful, babe."

Stiles grins back at his Mate with glowing amber eyes.  Jordan almost feels sorry for Matt.

"Jackson let himself be _used_ , Daehler.  Big difference.  His soul is bound to Derek's," Stiles says.

The _kanima_ screeches are sounding more like human screams now.  The scales have withdrawn farther but the human within can't seem to break through.  The powerful tail slams into the wall, crashing through drywall and studs like they are paper.  The wolf growls but the _kanima_ venom is too strong even for his system to burn through.

"Jackson," Stiles says quietly and the _kanima_ freezes.

The Spark moves his hands through the air in a series of graceful motions that gradually take shape in blue-tinted smoke-like wisps.  The form is a  large stylized eye and through the wide pupil Jordan sees a single whip-thin cord that stretches from the _kanima's_ chest to the wolf's.  It writhes and snaps like a live wire.  The reason behind its desperate movements is clear enough -- sickly purple ropes of energy slither around the link.  They reach only the halfway point but it's apparent that the tendrils are trying to sever the bond from Jackson's side. 

Jordan notices the edges of the scales have changed color and are now pale lavender.  A memory of the color invades his mind -- and Jordan growls.  Stiles raises an eyebrow.

"Jordan?"

"Babe ... look ... look at the scales ... look at his eyes ..."

The _kanima's_ eyes are no longer yellow ... instead they have taken on a distinctly purple hue around the slit pupils.  The same color seen in recent sexual assault victims recovered from dens like the one where they found Jackson.  The color begins to bleed like paint into the link, distorting it.  The scales return, covering the human beneath.  Stiles draws in a shocked breath.

"What the --"

The _kanima_ regards Stiles with an almost disdainful look.  "Anything can be broken, druid ... even a bond ..."

While the creature's focus is on Stiles, Jordan has crept to Derek's side.  He holds his hand behind him so the _kanima_ won't see it glowing nearly white.  He signs to Derek as he moves and hears a responding _chuf_ from the wolf.  The _kanima's_ eyes suddenly dart to Jordan as he drops beside Derek, pressing his hand into the wolf's side.  It springs, slamming into the hellhound and knocking him away.  Jordan tumbles over the railing and crashes to the floor below.  The air fills with the wretched smell of burnt fur and flesh along with a wolf's agonized howling.  Stiles leaps back to avoid the _kanima's_ tail when it pivots to attack Derek.  He can feel Jordan’s awareness but it’s fuzzy, meaning the hellhound is stunned.

Derek’s body aches with the wound on his side and his metabolism’s sudden kick-start in burning off the paralysis.  It takes everything he has but the werewolf shifts to human just as the  _kanima_ slams into him.  Derek manages to get his hands on Jackson’s wrists and his legs curled up to kick into the creature’s midsection.  He throws the  _kanima_ over his head.  It slams into the end of the hallway.  Stiles and Derek watch in horror as the beast twists mid-fall to land in a crouch and launch itself at them again.  Derek braces himself for impact.

Beside him, Stiles’ hands dance into the air trailing tails of red that strain toward the  _kanima_.  

“This is only going to hold him for a minute or two, Wolfy, so whatever plan you got you better do it now,” the Spark warns.

Derek nods and then the beast is on them.  Stiles sends the crimson ribbons straight at the  _kanima_ like arrows.  They circle the reptile and tighten mercilessly, pinning its arms.  It screeches in a human-like way.

”You don’t learn do you?  I can break any spell you weave, Stiles!  Morons!  The link is almost gone — by the time I get out of your little ropes Jackson will be all mine forever!”

Derek ignores the slurred rambling.  Muscles creak and bone crackles as he shifts to his beta form and confronts the  _kanima_ with the intent of rendering it unconscious somehow.  If he can knock it out, Stiles can strengthen the bonding spell and they can get Jackson back.  At least, that’s what Derek  _meant_ to do.

The  _kanima_ looks at Derek with the purple-hazed eyes and Matt’s voice laughs from its scaled throat.  Derek hears Stiles’ warning yell and Jordan’s growl - his brother has always been a tough one to take down — but suddenly he can’t move.  The bindings are gone as if they’d never been and Derek feels a strange pressure just below his ribcage.  

“Nice try, asshole.  You lose.”

Derek’s legs give way and he begins to fold.  He stares into the strange gaze and without knowing why, he says, “Come back to me, soulmate.”

The reaction is instananeous.  Jackson is suddenly standing there, holding Derek up.  His eyes are the yellow reptilian aspect Derek finds so beautiful and his skin is mottled with dark patches but Matt is nowhere to be seen.  Tears gleam in Jackson’s eyes.  He holds up an arm to show Derek the pattern swirling into existence. Derek’s words begging for his lover to fight and rejoin their link are indelibly inked on Jackson’s arm.  

“Thank you,” Jackson murmurs, pressing a kiss against Derek’s slack lips before he takes his soulmate’s hand and drives the werewolf’s claws deep into his torso.

Derek falls, pulled helplessly down by Jackson’s weight. They land in a heap but the link between them is gone and the storm deafens them all as the lights go out.  Derek doesn’t notice.  Instead, he screams; his voice returned as his heart shatters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don’t hate me ... it’s not over yet.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A mini-update . . .

Jordan stands silently beside Sheriff John Stilinski in the Beacon HIlls morgue; a small room containing only a single stainless steel autopsy table, a sink, various cabinets and two cold storage drawers.  The overhead light is like looking into the sun for Jordan's enhanced gaze so he's got his sunglasses on ... which helps him at least look professional since he's been crying off and on for nearly 24 hours.  He looks down at the pale body of his brother's soulmate.  Covered to the waist by a white sheet, Jackson almost looks like he's sleeping except for the maroon rent in his skin just below the ribcage.  Paralyzed, Derek hadn't been able to stop Jackson from using his claws to all but disembowel himself.

"Your pack is going to claim him," John says.

Jordan nods.  "He'll be buried next to -- next to Derek's plot."

The sheriff glances over at his deputy.  "What's Talia going to do about Derek?"

Words fail Jordan.  After so many years as Derek's voice he suddenly can't speak.  He tries but only ends up gawping like a landed fish.  John nods as if he'd gotten an actual verbal answer.  A heavy sigh escapes the man and he turns away from the body.

"Go home to my son, Jordan.  He needs you."

Jordan exhales sharply.  He opens his mouth again to say something but in the end, he just runs away.

* * *

"Stiles?"

The house is dark when Jordan gets home.  He hears the familiar heartbeat of his Mate upstairs and quietly makes his way to their room.  The door is open and on the bed is a Stiles-shaped lump beneath a brightly colored quilt.  Jordan pulls off his boots and then strips down to his boxers.  He slides beneath the quilt and spoons against the lean, muscled body curled up like a small child.  He can smell the salt-water of Stiles' tears.

"Babe --"

"Do you -- do you _hate_ me ... ?"

Jordan's arms tighten around Stiles so much that the young man squeaks.  He eases his grip and presses his lips close to Stiles' ear.

"Stop.  I don't hate you and I don't blame you.  This was _not_ your fault, babe.  Not one bit of it."

"But I could've ... I should've ..."

Jordan tugs until Stiles reluctantly rolls over.  He thumbs away tears but more just fall.  He feels his own sliding down his face.  "Could you have blasted Matt off the face of the Earth --"

"Yes!" Stiles sobs.

Jordan gently grips Stiles' chin and waits out the tears.  When they lessen, he continues.  "Could you have done it and _not_ hurt Jackson or Derek?  Or  yourself?"

Stiles wipes at his eyes.  "I don't know.  Maybe?"

"Then you did everything you could, Stiles and no one blames you," Jordan assures his young Mate.  "You held Matt at bay long enough to give Jackson a chance."

"But he's -- he's dead and now Derek's dead too!"

Jordan clutches Stiles tightly to him again.  "He's not dead yet, Stiles.  My brother is _not dead yet._ "

* * *

Talia stands in front of the enclosure.  It's a kind word, better than 'cage' but the task is the same.  It contains a large black wolf with eyes that burn red and have no humanity in them.  The beast paces back and forth never taking its eyes off Talia.  She flashes her eyes at it and a second later the animal crashes into the enclosure wall making the steel bars ring.  It never makes a sound; not a growl, not a snarl, not a whimper.  Even its breath is preternaturally quiet.  Unable to reach Talia, the wolf returns to pacing.

"Even his scent is ... wrong."

Talia turns at her brother's voice.  Peter looks as if he's aged years over the past day or so.  Even though they were born to the same family and grew up in the same Pack, Talia has rarely seen eye to eye with Peter.  The offense that split them occurred when Derek fell silent in a desperate effort to avoid harm to someone he didn't even know yet.  Peter scorned all weakness and stopped doting on Derek as before.  Talia was proud of the way Derek stoically accepted the abandonment without comment, but Talia heard the miserable tears in the dark heart of night. 

Still, Peter is here _now_.  He's here and his loyalty to his own is unquestionable.  She needs his ruthlessness.

"His blood should rot on the ground for what he has done, brother."

Peter glances at his sister with a raised eyebrow.  "What do you ask of me, Alpha?"

She turns to face him, wolfen eyes gleaming crimson.  She reaches out her hand and, lightning-quick, scores a spiral into the bars of the enclosure holding the beast that was once her son. 

Peter's eyes gleam electric blue as his body shifts into its beta form.  He rolls his head slowly, the muscles and bones in his neck crackling from tension.  His smile reveals a mouth full of gleaming fangs.

"Oh, I thought you'd _never_ ask ..."


	10. Chapter 10

The sky over Beacon Hills glows lavender while the clouds shift and slither as if alive.  Residents, fae and human, watch uneasily.

Jordan crosses the loft with one intent on his mind.  He has to be with Stiles.  He has to be in actual physical contact with Stiles or he won't be able to hold down the Hellhound raging just below his consciousness.  His aura flares randomly around him and it takes everything he has to push the beast back.

Stiles straddles the railing on the loft balcony.  His amber eyes study the sky and follow the phenomenon moving over the town.  He looks away only when Jordan steps out onto the balcony. 

"Hey, babe," he says softly.  A hand reaches out.  "C'mere."

Jordan takes three long strides and falls to his knees beside his Mate.  He presses his forehead against Stiles' thigh and exhales when the Spark cards his fingers into short-cropped hair.  Energy crackles between them; the bond surges and ebbs with their own supernatural natures.  Slowly, the tension in Jordan's shoulders eases and he feels clearer, more in control.  Stiles hums nonsensical notes that are somehow soothing in their randomness.

"S'ok, handsome.  Peter's on the Hunt.  We'll have him soon."

Jordan whimpers.  "Derek ... he doesn't even ... my brother is  _gone_ , Stiles!"

Stiles tilts Jordan's face up to look at him.  "Derek's not gone, Jordan.  You hear me?  He. Is. Not. Gone."  Stiles glances back up at the color beginning to darken to indigo.  

"You didn't see him, Stiles ... he's gone feral ... he didn't even recognize Talia!"

Stiles gives his Mate a grim smile.  "Feral?  Yeah, I can see that.  But he's still in there, Jordan or we'd have a rampaging werewolf on our hands.  No ... Derek's not going to give up until we know for sure."

"For sure?"  Jordan frowns.  "Stiles ... baby, I  _saw_ him.  Jackson's ... he's ..."

Stiles places fingers against Jordan's lips.  "Remember what I told you about the balance?"  He looks back up at the clouds.  "Daehler crossed a line ... he went after a soul bond.  That was his death sentence."

Tears slide down Jordan's face and Stiles' slender hand cups his face.  "My brave, brave Hound.  I love you so much."

Jordan rises and meets his Mate in a bruising kiss.  A shock snaps between them but neither man breaks the contact. Stiles groans when Jordan pulls him off the railing.  His long legs wrap around Jordan's waist and the Hell Hound swallows the desperate, whispered words of love.  When they pause, eyes the color of amber and burnt orange gleam at one another.  Jordan knows if he ever lost Stiles like Derek lost Jackson, nothing would keep him from giving himself to the dark beast that slumbers inside him.

With a sharp crackle, Stiles' Spark suddenly flares to life around them and the young man's eyes blaze with power.  "That's it, handsome ... that's the sign ... Peter has him!"

* * *

The temperature is the first thing Jackson notices.  He's shivering uncontrollably because it's freezing which makes no sense because the _kanima_ doesn't _get_ cold.  Jackson tries to sit up but instead slams into a very unyielding metal ceiling.  He snarls and curses at his dark coffin but then a sudden rush of memory hits him.

Dead.  He's supposed to be dead.  Jackson runs trembling fingertips down his torso and feels the deep scars from Derek's claws where he tore himself open.  He remembers the pain.  He remembers looking in Derek's eyes and feeling everything he never thought he was worthy of -- he remembers the ink that slithered down his arm.

_Come back to me, soulmate_.

Jackson's lip curls up as every humiliating moment with Matt crawls through his mind.  It makes him feel rotten and disgusting but then words drawn on air filter through his mind.  Words spoken by another but from Derek's heart.

_Everything I am is yours if you want it, Jackson._

The scales begin at his hairline and travel the length of Jackson's body.  His claws emerge dripping venom and his powerful tail curls beneath him.  The metal door to his morgue drawer gives way like a soda can when Jackson kicks out.  He pushes himself out and leaps to the floor with a soft hiss.  The lights are off but Jackson hears the sound of people running toward the room.  He scrambles across the room and up the wall where he clings just over the door.  As it swings open to admit the frantic nurse and security guard, Jackson smoothly crawls over the door frame and into the drop ceiling on the other side.  His tail neatly taps the tile back into place and he moves quickly through the dark recess over HVAC ductwork and tubes carrying different gasses throughout the building.  Jackson uses his _kanima_ senses to pick out the most direct path to an outside wall and avoid people but he comes to an abrupt stop.  A juncture that leads to the back of the hospital reeks with the scent of his soulmate.  Jackson cocks his head and breathes deeply, letting the spicy signature of his mate wash over him.  

_Derek ...?_

Jackson follows a trail so thick he thinks he could track it even in his human form.  His tail jerks anxiously from side to side as he slides along the piping because no matter how hard he presses against the bond, Jackson can only capture the vaguest sense of his mate.  Everything he's known and felt about Derek in their whirlwind relationship seems hidden behind a mist that Jackson can't quite see through.  He makes a pained sound as he reaches the rear loading bay.  It's obvious that Derek was present at one point but the werewolf's scent is not right.  Hidden behind a vent cover, Jackson surveys the dock and the  _kanima_ lets him 'see' what happened.

His own smell is heavy near a parking area where confirmed deceased individuals are brought because of the freight elevator that opens directly into the morgue.  Overlapping with it is Derek's scent ... and Jackson follows it from the parking area to the elevator where they split.  His own scent, tinged with death moves into the elevator.  Derek's ... Derek's moves away to another part of area where Jackson picks up van exhaust and distressed wolves.  Talia.  Derek's mother was here.  The Alpha of the Hale Pack was present when Derek was put into some sort of a truck and -- Jackson hisses in distress.  His soulmark actually burns against his skin.  Derek went feral.  Jackson's mate - _his wolf_ \- lost his humanity because Derek believed his soul mate was dead.

Jackson moves out of the vent and toward the dock's ceiling once the area is empty.  He crushes a camera overseeing the entrance and moves lightning quick out and around the side of the building.  The light is beginning to fade in an odd way as the storm approaches; almost as if it's sucking all the light away into the clouds.

Jackson's tongue darts out and he presses it to his sense organ.  Immediately, he catches the faintest whiff of Derek's scent overlayed with more vehicle exhaust.  The van took a road that leads to the outer edge of Beacon Hills -- Eichen House.  With a glance at the darkening sky, Jackson starts to follow the trail of his mate.  Before this, Jackson never wanted to see Matt again.  Now he hopes that their paths cross one last time.  The  _kanima's_ sense of right and wrong has few gray areas.  Jackson gnashes his fangs together and his eyes narrow with dark pleasure as he looks down at the razor sharp claws of the  _kanima_.

It's going to be interesting to see how long he can keep Matt paralyzed but alive while he slices the human's skin off.


End file.
